There is a good chance you found us accidentally by using the word “taint” in your search (If you found us on purpose, you deserve our accolades). Of course we don’t know what you were looking for, but you stumbled on a damn cool project. Look around; let us help send you on a musical journey. Here you will find a number of album reviews from the strange and extreme to the tame and mainstream. Our reviewers are a bunch of obsessive miscreants. Most of us are avid music collectors and have been involved in the music world for decades. A couple of us have been in or are still in bands.
There are no rules on Tickle Your Taint Blog. Our reviewers might make you laugh, or piss you off; both results are legitimate. One reviewer might write a glowing review of an album another might tear it apart. We may end up adopting a single review system, such as five stars, or each reviewer may use his own or none at all. We may have a new review every week or we could end up with one every six months. This blog exists as a social experiment to build community among a diverse group of music maniacs – our reviewers and hopefully you. Pull down your knickers, lube up and join us in tickling yours and our taints.
From time to time, we present questions to our fellow taint ticklers. Recently, we asked: “What are five to ten songs that you would like to have played at your funeral?” There are numerous ways to approach this question. For music addicts, it is hard to limit the number of songs. Furthermore, the list is likely to change many times, as we remember additional songs and hear new music. Nevertheless, it is worth going through this process, as it is helpful to plan, and fun to share various musical connections. Below is Jimmy “Explosive Diarrhea” B’s list.
By Jimmy “Explosive Diarrhea” B:
When I was asked to come up with five funeral songs, my first reaction was to think about which Blue Oyster Cult or Rush songs would work well. But, a second later, I realized that I couldn’t ruin these bands that I love for the people I love by having them associated with a tragedy. I will explain more. I figure there are several reasons to choose a playlist for a funeral. A soon to be decedent could choose favorite songs. Another temporary human might choose songs that defined his/her life. A drinker, for example, may look to the Moe Bandy catalog. My thought is that I want the songs to have nothing at all to do with my life, nor do I want them to be songs by bands I care about. I want my spouse and daughter to continue to love BOC. So, the five songs in the list below are songs and performers I can tolerate, but don’t care about. They are fun songs and just might make the funeral attendees say, “what the fuck?” I think this sentiment would be a great tribute to the great former person known as Jimmy.
Songs to be played at funeral:
1. Mac Davis, “It’s Hard to be Humble.”
2. Violent Femmes, “Country Death Song.”
3. Missing Persons, “Walking in L.A.”
4. Ben Colder (AKA Sheb Wooley), “Harper Valley PTA.”
From time to time, we present questions to our fellow taint ticklers. Recently, we asked: “What are five to ten songs that you would like to have played at your funeral?” There are numerous ways to approach this question. For music addicts, it is hard to limit the number of songs. Furthermore, the list is likely to change many times, as we remember additional songs and hear new music. Nevertheless, it is worth going through this process, as it is helpful to plan, and fun to share various musical connections. Below is Spooner D’s list.
By Spooner D
Songs to be played at funeral:
Intro music: George Winston, Plains (full album)
1.) Mary Gauthier, “Mercy Now”
2.) Modern English, “I Melt with You”
3.) George and Ira Gershwin, “Love Is Here to Stay”
4.) Tracy Chapman, “All That You Have Is Your Soul”
4.5) Tony Arata, “The Dance”
5.) Neil Young, “Mother Nature”
Outro music: George Winston, December (full album)
Song to listen to on the drive home (or any drive):
Alice Donut have been one of my favorite bands for more than half my life. There is absolutely no other band on the planet like them. I have loved them from the time I bought my first Alice Donut CD in the college town of Iowa City and they have been blowing my mind ever since. Though I believe The Untidy Suicides of Your Degenerate Children may be their pinnacle of socially critical psychedelically deranged punk rock, I decided to review the album Mulebecause it was the first Alice Donut CD I bought, and it is a great place to start for those who have never experienced the Donut. But then I think, what about Revenge Fantasies of the Impotent or Bucketfuls of Meaninglessness and Horror in an Otherwise Meaningless Life? See, just the prospect of picking one album to review is problematic and difficult for me.
Before we get into Mule,let me give you a little background. Alice Donut is a group of misfits from New York. Their first seven full-length albums were released on the great Alternative Tentacles record label and their last three albums were released on Howler records. Then they returned to Alternative Tentacles for the last full-length record they released. Their music is a blend of straight up rock, punk rock, and psychedelic noise landscapes that are frequently infused with often beautiful guitar strummed melodies. Most of their album covers depict grotesque cartoon characters illustrated by the lead singer Tomas. These same characters are usually drawn in Technicolor on the trench coat that is his live uniform. Alice Donut also have another mascot that frequents their album covers, a stubble faced man often dressed in women’s clothing. The lead singer has a very interesting voice, as he can sound like a screeching bug wailing with a sense of desperate vulnerability like a beetle scrambling for survival caught on a busy crosswalk in the heart of Manhattan’s rush-hour. Yes, he often sounds like a trapped bug, which fittingly echoes our little human lives in a vast universe in which we could be squashed at any moment. However, besides this sense of ultimate vulnerability, he is also able to sing in soft undertones that mirror a bittersweet loneliness, emotional desperation, and sadness. Alice Donut is a truly unique band.
Mule opens with the track “Mother of Christ” which is a blistering rock tune where the singer wonders why “it sounds so ugly when he says what he feels.”What does he feel? He wants to know what it felt like to be the Virgin Mary during the moment of Immaculate Conception. It must have been great to be fucked by god, although most of us probably feel this every day. Here’s a sample:
Mother of Christ I wanna feel what Mary felt (Mother of Christ) I wanna feel what Mary felt (Mother of Christ) when God spent his seed
Mother of Christ I wanna feel the messiah’s head (Mother of Christ) against my confused virgin breast (Mother of Christ) I wanna lactate sin free
And I see the angel’s mighty sheath And I feel the earth and heavens spread And I see the skewered burning pit And I feel the nugget of the seed
I’m the earth mother I’m the virgin mother Primordial mother The virgin mother
And I feel the womb envy deep within And I feel the holy conception And I hear the groans of the damned And I see the hymens ripped with sin
I’m the earth mother The virgin mother Primordial ooze
I guess the question remains, was it consensual?
The next track is “Mrs. Hayes” and is a reoccurring theme that appears on many of Alice Donut’s subsequent albums: the subjugation of the female sex as a slave to patriarchal social norms. These female characters often have a moment of enlightenment many years later, and the result is often violent rebellion and vengeance. Over an angular repeating chord sequence, the story unfolds:
Mrs. Hayes Takes a fork And stabs in her husband’s neck Rips his tongue From his throat And slashes at his fatty jowls It’s just a dream A drunken dream but it makes her feel better 30 Years Of wasted...life Mr. Hayes Lives alone With his maid and cook
“Get over here! Get over here! Christ! You're an idiot!" 30 Years Of wasted life My small comfort when I go When I go Is he’ll be rotting in a home A breathing corpse Open casket Mr. Hayes When I go You... ...Gave... ...Me... ...NOTHING!!!
Mrs. Hayes’s “drunken dream” is pale in comparison to her “30 years of wasted life,” and it is hard not to root for the slave. As Frantz Fanon states in Wretched of the Earth,when all other means of liberation are exhausted, the only hope for liberation is a knife at the master’s neck. Somehow, Alice Donut is able use humor and horror to paint a picture of reality that begs for this woman’s validation.
The grotesque cruelty between human beings found in many Alice Donut songs is not merely to entertain, but exists under a blanket illustrating how cruel human beings can be to one another when their orientation to the world is built upon a foundation of systematic dehumanization—this appeal to humanity becomes explicit through Alice Donut’s catalog and is further expanded in Mule itself.
“Mrs. Hayes” is followed by a mid tempo electric strumming beauty of more human isolation and alienation. The walls we build up between each other: “Roaches in the Sink.”
Roaches in the sink, I’m cooking something dead She’s holding my mistakes up over my head I’m simmering my meal with utter patience She’s screaming out bleeding verbal mutilations A fed up Serbian kills Archduke Ferdinand Unhinging the wrath of millions Time to drink myself into Oblivion Stagger down the hall, open up the door Ripped up photographs are scattered across the floor Severed pieces of me Pieces of my faulty personality I walk inside the room, she’s staring hard in rage With a stern moral expression My future’s looking
Unpleasant
In the midst of this comic relief the music turns to whining melancholic guitars as the narrator sings:
I can’t afford this psychotic trauma pain thing I can’t afford it anymore I can’t afford the overwhelming weirdness
A murderous silence, she stares down at her feet I take this as a cue, that I’m supposed to speak In words of heartfelt conviction And kneel before the priest For my act of contrition
The next track is a little rocker: “Crawlpappy.” After all these years I am not sure what this song is about. A mushy priest? All I know is that at the end it is hard to take “the indignity of it all!”
Then we move to a remarkable tune, “My Severed Head,” philosophizing about death and the comedic accidental decapitation set to an amazing psychedelic rock grove and perfectly controlled feedback as the guitars move in and out of a melodic swirl of beautiful hues.
What if my... Head were severed. By the gears...of a carbine And it landed several feet from my convulsing twitching body On the stump of my neck
It took seven minutes for the blood to drain Would I be conscious, be conscious and able to see?
Initially, I’d be upset. For fucking up...in such a tremendous fashion But I’d get easily distracted I’ve got a tendency toward sloth Be a trooper, keep my chin up, Ponder something pointless
Am I my head or my body? Am I my body or my head? I think I’m more... ...attached to...my head emotionally
It’s horrible The average death, In a hospital room Stuck on Frankenstein machine. I hope I die in a freakish way, by an act of sheer stupidity. Something like...(2x) Electric shaver in a bath tub A lunchbox falling from a scaffold…drops twenty floors...and…crushes... ...me like an insect
Hilarious and brilliant.
If the album seems creative and brilliant at this point, the listener realizes that it has only just begun, as the next track “Bottom of the Chain” is a purely magnificent and super rocking Marxist critique of the dregs and disillusionment of the working class under capitalist hegemony and exploitation. The overt creativity and intellectual complexity of the Donut only now becomes evident.
Repulsive furniture in a small home out in Queens Spotted-tick-fever parents and their bat-wielding teens Another murder, splattered across the news Can’t wait till the flames engulf this city
Walk in the slaughterhouse for an 8-hour day Walk out a butchered sow and crammed back in the train I’m claustrophobic, so I stay close to the door Get out at Essex, and start to transform Into a human
Here the narrator is reduced to nothing more than labor power, and like a cow being led to slaughter, he is dissembled and degraded, resulting in a loss of life.
I make your Xeroxes (I know, I know) I staple and I file (I know, I know) I’m going brain-dead (I know, I know) But I know what I’m worth, Yeah I do
The head of my company doesn’t realize That he’s expendable, it would still survive But I’m the cannon fodder, the grease inside the wheel I’m the nerve center, the achilles’ heel
Indeed, the boss needs the narrator in order to produce surplus. And though the narrator’s life feels like “cannon fodder,” he is the “nerve center” at the center of the inhuman machine working, which is further examined in the next few lines:
And I’m the critical link I’m the crucial link I’m the weakest link At the Bottom of the Chain In the economy (Weak link) At the Bottom of the Chain (Weak link) In the economy (Your link) At the Bottom of the Chain... (Bottom, bottom, bottom...)
Though the narrator is the weakest link, which invokes the feeling of powerlessness, he is also the link that could break, disrupting the system, and bring down the entire thing. General strike, anyone?
An unimportant cell of an apathetic whole Fractured, uninterested, without any goals I like to drink a beer, stare out into the streets Smoke some cigarettes, cook something to eat Waiting for the city to burn
The narrator’s life is filled with the mundane tasks of survival as he regenerates his strength and ability to return to work and surrender even more hours of his life. His only real dream of freedom is imagining the whole fucking system burning to the ground. The beast cannot be reformed.
I’ve made no impact (I know, I know) On this mass culture (I know, I know) I’m going braindead (I know, I know) But I rule this earth Yeah, I do ‘Cause when I collate (I know, I know) The masses tremble (I know, I know) And when I send a fax (I know, I know) The universe shudders at my fury
And I’m the critical link I’m the crucial link I’m the weakest link At the Bottom of the Chain
The song fades out with the chorus, ending side one.
The album continues with more sardonic, grotesque, and tragically comedic masterpieces, laced with some of the greatest guitar textures and grooves ever put on wax. It continues with a portrait of U.S. obesity in the song “Big Ass.” The lamentations of a child pleading for the life of a squirrel from the back seat of a car can be heard in “Roadkill.” By the middle of side two, we find a tender and hopeless acoustic ballad in the song, “Tiny Ugly World.” I played this song for a friend while I was attending the University of Iowa back in the early 1990s, and it had such an effect on him that he wrote all the lyrics on the back of his jean jacket. The Donut can have this kind of emotional power on a person, as they are much more complex than might be apparent at first listen.
As we get near the end of the album, the masterpiece “J Train Downtown: A Nest of Murder” feels like an appendage to “Bottom of the Chain,” in that it paints a comical, claustrophobic and nightmarish scene of riding a crowed New York City subway to work. At the end of the song the subway doors open and,
The insects spew
Caesarian birth
From a festering womb
Then we all flock out together, feeling perky
Headed towards the...Slaughterhouse
The album closes with a song called, “Cows Placenta To Armageddon.” Yes, it is as crazy as it sounds. A mutating virus turns people into grotesque forms, ultimately resulting in Armageddon. I’ll let you pick up the album and read the lyrics, as this album and this band are beyond description. The music is often beautiful and heartbreaking and serious and funny and tragic and…all of that. In addition, I must stress again, Alice Donut albums contain some of the best guitar riffs and textures of any album, anywhere. Every musician brings a distinct personality and style to the band. They are one of the best, hands down.
I have seen Alice Donut three times: in a basement of a residential house Davenport, Iowa, in 1991, in San Francisco at an actual music venue in 1996, and in a nearly empty classroom on the Colorado State University campus in Fort Collins in 1992 (I think). While I was seeing them in the basement of a house in Iowa, there was a moment where Tomas, the lead singer, gave me the mic so I could sing the famous, “Oh Really?” line from the song “Lisa’s Father.” It remains one of my favorite memories, ever. Rarely do we get a band this good and this complex. All of their Alternative Tentacles albums are absolutely brilliant. Get them all, but Mule is a great place to start.
From time to time, we present questions to our fellow taint ticklers. Recently, we asked: “What are five to ten songs that you would like to have played at your funeral?” There are numerous ways to approach this question. For music addicts, it is hard to limit the number of songs. Furthermore, the list is likely to change many times, as we remember additional songs and hear new music. Nevertheless, it is worth going through this process, as it is helpful to plan, and fun to share various musical connections. Below is Jack Rafferty’s list.
By Jack Rafferty
Songs to be played at funeral:
Dubliners, “The Auld Triangle.”
Blind Willie Johnson, “Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground.”
The Clancy Brothers, “The Parting Glass.”
John Prine, “Please Don’t Bury Me.”
Led Zeppelin, “Over the Hills and Far Away.”
Leonard Cohen, “Leaving the Table.”
The White Stripes, “One More Cup of Coffee” (Bob Dylan Cover).
Dave Van Ronk, “Hang Me, Oh Hang Me.”
Townes Van Zandt, “Sky Blue.”
Blaze Foley, “If I Could Only Fly.”
Songs to be played at the gathering following the funeral:
Luke Kelly, “Raglan Road.”
John Prine, “Summer’s End.”
Dolly Parton, “Early Morning Breeze.”
Victor Jara, “El Cigarrito.”
Harry McClintock, “Big Rock Candy Mountain.”
Johnny Cash, “Sam Hall.”
Johnny Cash, “Ain’t No Grave.”
Javier Solis, “El Adios del Soldado.”
Willie Nelson, “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.”
Bob Dyaln, “Song to Woody.”
Tom Paxton, “I Can’t Help But Wonder Where I’m Bound..”
Phil Ochs, “When I’m Gone.”
Manuel Agujetas, “Siguiriyas.”
Carmen Amaya, “Siguiriya Gitana.”
Son House, “Grinnin in Your Face.”
Billie Holiday, “I’ll Be Seeing You.”
Zoltan Kodaly, “Sonata for Cello in B Minor.”
The Wolfe Tones, “Come Out Ye Black and Tans.”
Lou Reed, “Perfect Day.”
Iggy Pop, “The Passenger.”
The Beatles, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.”
Black Sabbath, “N.I.B.”
AC/DC, “Highway to Hell.”
Ennio Morricone, “Death Rides a Horse and Ecstasy of Gold.”
David Bowie, “Lazarus.”
The Dubliners, “Oro Se Do Bheatha Bhaile.”
“El Deguello.”
Marty Robbins, “They’re Hangin Me Tonight.”
Zamfir, “The Lonely Shepherd.”
Lisa O’Neill, “Rock the Machine.”
Lankum, “Cold Old Fire.”
John Moreland, “Hang Me in the Tulsa County Stars.”
This song goes rather unnoticed when people are talking about subversive protest songs or anti-authority music in general. It’s easy to write off Bob Marley and the reggae music he helped pioneer as stoner background music. Too often, it is simply something people listen to when they’re hanging out around a campfire at a music fest, or playing hacky sack and waiting for Phish to take the stage. But those associations obscure the social and political depth of Marley’s music and writing. Marley’s songs have always contained an element of rebellion and revolution (the man survived a politically motivated shooting and played to 80,000 people two days after being wounded!), and “I Shot the Sheriff”is one of his finest.
It took a long time for me to learn to appreciate this song. I’m sure that I had heard it on the radio and in movies, but I never really paid any attention to it. Honestly, it might have been all the falsetto singing that led me to dismiss and disregard the original. Clapton’s version wasn’t any better, with just as much silly, high-pitched singing and a whole lot of self-indulgent guitar soloing. The song just seemed…silly. My tastes ran toward louder, faster, more aggressive music. I was interested in songs that rocked, and the versions of this that I had encountered on the radio did anything but.
The first time I really paid attention to the song was when I playing music with my parents. My mom wanted to give it a try. We would play in the basement as a three-piece. My dad on guitar, me on bass, and all three of us singing (poorly). My dad and I sat down to figure the song out. Initially, I was hooked by the music. The chords were odd. A lot of minors. It was very different from the 1-4-5 blues progressions that most rock songs revolve around. It felt almost jazzy. And the turnaround rift was brilliant! It was almost Beatles-esque in its genius and simplicity. A simple six notes descending down the minor pentatonic scale with a slight hiccup halfway through, followed by a tiny, one-measure pause, for a drum fill. Since we didn’t have a drummer, we made my mom play the fill on the tambourine. The song was unlike any of the music I had learned or listened to…and it kind of rocked.
I drew lead vocal duties for it. First off, I did away with any and all falsetto singing. I sang it the same way I tried to sing Rolling Stones and Pearl Jam songs, low and angry. And it worked for the song—it worked for the vibe and the lyrics. As I learned the words, I became enamored by them. They tell a story, like Bruce Springsteen or early Bob Dylan. The content could be lifted right out of one of John Steinbeck’s shorter novellas—Tortilla Flat or The Pearl. And the story is explicitly one of social justice and rebellion against authority in general, the police in particular.
In the song, the sheriff is hopelessly corrupt. He kills the narrator’s crops before they even have a chance to grow. Then he comes to kill the narrator, who shoots him down in self-defense. The “moral” for how to respond to a repressive regime or unjust police force couldn’t be clearer. Marley is quoted as having said: “I want to say ‘I shot the police’ but the government would have made a fuss so I said ‘I shot the sheriff’ instead…but it’s the same idea: justice.” The song’s story is a clear statement that justice is not always found by following the rules and working within the system. Sometimes the good guys need to work outside of that system, or even attack it directly to make things right.
One of the things I like best about this song is how well it makes a bold statement against oppression (How do you respond to the man keeping you and your family down? You shoot him in the face, that’s how!) while maintaining a deeply sympathetic awareness that not all people in positions of power are bad or corrupt. (The narrator is very clear about how he didn’t shoot the deputy, who seems to have never done him wrong.) I have friends and family members who have served or are currently serving in the military. I know that a number of my students will go on to serve as police officers. I would have trouble embracing a song that seemed to vilify them or advocate for violence against them purely on the basis of their vocation. I understand that pointing out systemic issues and problems associated with either institution is not an assault on the character of those individuals who work for them. When reading stories and having discussions about systemic racism in our country’s police forces, it can be tempting to adopt an extreme position. We love to see the world in black and white and talk about good guys and bad guys. But the more you look, listen, and learn, the more you understand and appreciate what a complicated world we live in. One in which any type of knee-jerk reaction is likely to be misplaced. Bob Marley understood that, and he wrote a song that embraced that complexity. (“If I am guilty, I will pay!”) He was saying that in the pursuit of a fair, just world, there can be no compromise. However, he left quite a lot of room in his song for complexity and nuance. That depth is a big part of why I still love playing and listening to this song to this day.
In 1939, Billie Holiday started performing “Strange Fruit.” While she feared backlash, she was committed to singing this song, which often brought her to tears, that condemned racism and lynching. Abel Meeropol, under the name Lewis Allen, penned “Strange Fruit” as a poem, after he saw a photograph from 1930 that depicted the lynching of Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith in Indiana. After he published the poem in 1937, with the title “Bitter Fruit,” he put the poem to music. It became a popular protest song in New York City. But it is Holiday’s version that stands as legendary and still speaks to issues today.
Holiday asked Columbia, her recording label, for permission to record “Strange Fruit.” The label refused, indicating that such an incendiary song would result in negative reactions and loss of record sales. Holiday persisted approaching her friend at a jazz label. They worked out a deal with Columbia, which released Holiday to record for one session with a different label.
“Strange Fruit” is immediately chilling, as Holiday sings “Southern trees bear strange fruit /
Blood on the leaves and blood at the roots / Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze / Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.”
In 1895, Ida B. Wells published The Red Record, detailing how a system of racial hierarchy and inequality was enforced through a system of lynching in the United States. Lynching became so normal that there was an accepted lynch law, where blacks were simply killed. Large white crowds gathered to participate and observe. There was no fear of reprisal, as there were no inquiries or investigations into these incidents. Postcards were made and sold depicting these horrors (see https://withoutsanctuary.org and watch the short film), further normalizing such violence and hatred. In documenting and exposing this violence, Wells wrote, “Perhaps the most characteristic feature of this record of lynch law for the year 1893, is the remarkable fact that five human beings were lynched and that the number was considered of so little importance that the powerful press bureaus of this country did not consider the matter of enough importance to ascertain the causes for which they were hanged. It tells the world, with perhaps greater emphasis than any other feature of the record, that Lynch Law has become so common in the United States that finding of the dead body of a Negro, suspended between heaven and earth to the limb of a tree, is of so slight importance that neither the civil authorities nor press agencies consider the matter work investigating.” Wells devoted her life to opposing racial capitalism and repression.
Through the decades, this system of violence has continued—hangings, burnings, beatings, shootings. Holiday marks these ongoing horrors: “Pastoral scene of the gallant south / Them big bulging eyes and the twisted mouth / Scent of magnolia, sweet and fresh / Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.” In this short song, in anguish and defiance, Holiday powerful concludes: “Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck / For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck / For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop / Here is a strange and bitter crop.” “Strange Fruit” is now recognized as one of the important songs of the twentieth century and remains Holiday’s biggest selling record. It produces goosebumps and tears on every listen.
Lynching was so widespread and common that Mark Twain, in disgust, in 1901, indicated that the country should be known as the “United States of Lyncherdom.” In the 1940s, Oliver Cromwell Cox, in Caste, Class and Race, stressed that the threat of lynching was embedded in the state, “in the whip hand of the ruling class,” serving as the means to impose racial oppression and to maintain the status quo of white supremacy. A militarized police force, as part of national policy, terrorizes people of color. As Cornel West recently explained, the murder of George Floyd by police is “a lynching at the highest level.” The list of victims is very, very long. “A strange and bitter crop” is still present and sanctioned by the state.
Here’s to the rebellions and protests against racial oppression, police violence, and the neofascist Donald Trump. Justice now!
